


The Succession Myth

by imperialhuxness



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bickering, Denial of Feelings, Inspired by the Age of Resistance Kylo Comic, M/M, Office Sex, Oops, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Praise Kink, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, This Got Soft, light boot worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 06:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialhuxness/pseuds/imperialhuxness
Summary: Kylo killed a god, subjugated a planet, and surpassed Vader's legacy.When he shows up in Hux's office with adrenaline to burn, Hux should be more impressed, right?--Hux scoffs, then moves toward his desk, boots whispering against the coarse rug that surrounds it.Kylo follows. He can’t handle any distance between them, not now. “What am I supposed to be explaining?”I just won.





	The Succession Myth

After a few years of round trips from various planetsides to the _ Finalizer_, Kylo knows what to expect as he deboards the _ Upsilon _-class: the clatter of machinery, the stale fuel fumes, the black uniforms of techs and the white armor of troopers. Every cog in its place.

Familiar, too, is the dull Force-buzz of thousands of pacified, well-conditioned minds, the lifeblood of the Finalizer, of a score of ships like it. 

The rhythm of it should be calming, in contrast to the cacophony of the battle he just came from. 

In the wake of it, the Force is still singing through him, even three hours and an on-ship sonic later. His palms itch, pulse pounds. He spent most of the return flight pacing like a zoo animal, repressing hysterical laughter. 

It’s gone. All of it.

The cacophony, yes, but also the veritable Force _ migraine _of Vader’s lingering presence on the Benathy’s world. It was like a form of atomic radiation, permeating the land and atmosphere for generations to come.

It was the kind of thing that should have been eternal, _ irreplaceable_, that shadow. But leaving the planet, he could no longer detect it: his own had completely overpowered it.

Somehow, some way--no, through his own hard _ fucking _work, he did it. What Vader couldn’t.

He’s barely holding in the exhilaration now, head buzzing like he’s drunk on Hux’s brandy. The whole hangar and all its _ systems _ feel two-dimensional, like a watery illusion that could pop and disintegrate at any moment. Unreal and irrelevant compared to the rush of this.

He has to do something about it. 

Use it. 

If he doesn’t, it’ll burn him up, or worse, just sour somewhere between his ribs.

He bites his lip against an elated rictus. He’s just wearing the cowl, given the state of his mask, and has some vague sense of decorum to attempt.

He’ll soon shed it all, though. 

He has to, and he’ll do it in the galaxy’s most pleasurable way. Possibly the known universe’s.

So as he heads down the shuttle’s ramp, he scans the hangar for the last certainty: Hux, looking put-upon. Or at least Hux’s signature in the Force, clean and distinct--a sharp chord amid the blank static.

It’s with a cold shock that he detects neither, not even when he knocks the cowl back from his face to expand his unmasked line of vision, not even when he stretches the Force to scan nearby corridors. (As if Hux would ever be late, but still.)

He doesn’t have a chance to reach out further before an officer interrupts him, datapad in hand. 

“Sir?”

Kylo catalogues her uniform’s stripes and badges. “Lieutenant.”

“Relaying a communique on behalf of General Hux, sir.”

A tremor of anxiety runs under her tone, clouds her presence as she says Hux’s name. She’s an open enough book, and Kylo thumbs through the fore of her mind easily enough. She isn’t concerned _ for _ Hux ( _ he’s okay)_, but whatever conversation she’s just had with him was far from fun. 

As if it ever _ could _ be, but still. There was something there besides his usual sternness. Something in his voice, an undercurrent that ruffled her thoughts— _ oh _. 

Hux was on-edge.

(_Fuck yes_.)

Kylo curls his fingers, but schools his face. The cowl’s shadow helps.

“Go on and relay it,” he says.

The lieutenant glances down at her datapad, then back up into the cowl. “He would like to see you in his office, sir.”

Even after years of this—of Hux and the lines of him, his sharp gaze and how he always gets what he wants—a surge of heat threads beneath Kylo’s skin at _ He would like to see you _ . Even the _ office _ part isn’t enough to dull it, as much as Kylo had been expecting _ visitors’ chamber _. 

“His office,” Kylo echoes, not letting it become a question.

“Yes, sir. He wanted you to report there immediately.”

There it is. Hux’s exact verbiage. The little assertions.

Kylo can handle it.

“I don’t report to General Hux.” 

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant swallows, glances down. 

Kylo senses her heart racing, fingers sweating into the edges of her datapad. She doesn’t want to get involved in the higher-ups’ power games. Her dinner break is in ten minutes.

Kylo dismisses her with a flick of his hand. “Inform him I’m on my way.”

* * *

Hux won’t understand, of course. 

Not all of it, anyway, and the parts he does understand--the notion of a legacy to best, having to live in someone’s shadow--he’ll pretend not to. (He’ll admit to Brendol’s end, but never to his specter.)

The Force part, though, he truly won’t get. Kylo will try to explain Vader’s presence on that battlefield, still very much alive, and Hux will blink at him. 

He’ll ask one or two questions, attempting to analogize it, then he’ll clear his throat and nod, as if he fully understands now. He’ll say something like, _ “Very well. It’s all just a form of science,” _but roll his eyes, just a little.

(But none of that will matter, because then he’ll spread his legs.)

Kylo knows all of this--this rhythm they’ve acquired. 

Hux calls it a ’_destructive pattern_,’ but only when he’s laughing. Or when he’s ending it, again, but it’s been a solid six months since the last heartbreak, and Kylo’s cock is filling thinking about even _ that _fight as he takes the lift to Delta corridor and Hux’s office.

The last few meters down the hall are a special sort of agony, but at least no one passes him. No one sees the immutable bulge under the soft, unforgiving fabric of the gym clothes he’s wearing. His usual attire was in as bad of shape as his mask, after the Zillo beast--at least the shuttle had had training wear and a spare cloak aboard.

Just as well, really. This is far more easily removed than his typical layers.

But even with the breeze of the cloak, the t-shirt and sweat-proof leggings are _ literally suffocating him _by the time he reaches Hux’s door. 

He has to get out of them, all of this, now; he needs--

Luckily, his finger hasn’t left the buzzer before the doors slide open, inundating him with Hux’s presence. It’s deafening, magnetic, just looking at him, and Kylo hardly hears the doors click shut behind him as he enters, hardly feels himself knock back the cowl entirely.

Hux, for the moment fully dressed, is standing by the small holotank in the corner beside his desk, a scale projection of Starkiller glowing under his right palm. He watches Kylo enter, then glances pointedly back down at the hologram, then back up at Kylo, before powering it off. Like he does.

He looks beautiful--gloves on, lips full, hair tidy and just begging to be pulled out of regulation. The tension he carries somewhere along his spine still grips his posture, pulls his features into severe lines, but that’ll change within minutes. 

Kylo will draw it out with his lips, crush it to pieces under the weight of his body. 

It’s all Kylo can do to walk with purpose right now. It’s all he can do to stay standing. 

He takes a step toward Hux, but Hux’s expression doesn’t change. He folds his hands behind his back and says primly, “I hope you came with some sort of explanation.”

Kylo stops dead. “What?”

Hux scoffs, then moves toward his desk, boots whispering against the coarse rug surrounding it. 

Kylo follows. He can’t handle any distance between them, not now. “What am I supposed to be explaining?” _ I just _won.

“I know about the…” Hux’s nose wrinkles as he sits down on his side of the desk, without bothering to point for Kylo to take the one opposite. “...Zillo-beast. What the _ fuck _do you think you just did?”

Kylo shrugs. “What the mission required.” 

The desk is a barrier, but what’s Kylo supposed to do, stand there like a junior officer? He sits, briefly cataloging the stark effects on the desk’s surface: Hux’s datapad, a standard-issue officer’s mug with teabag tags over the side, and a momentum cradle--five swinging spheres tethered to a metal frame, physics in action. Behind Hux, a viewport frames constellations, glittering white and distant. 

Hux is warmer and more real. He’s right _ fucking _ here, and Kylo has spent the last four hours telegraphing the slide of his own cock inside Hux, and he _ needs-- _

“‘What the mission required,’” Hux echoes back, aspirating on all the wrong syllables, like he’s spitting out lukewarm tea. If he ever did that, if he didn’t just keep drinking, because drinking your tea is what you _ do. _

But sex after missions is what _ they _ do. After victories. High kill ratios. When Kylo’s feeling good--feeling _ himself _\--for once, rather than just needing a stimulus or an escape. 

He still doesn’t know exactly what Hux needs, but this, he keeps taking.

“This is a private debriefing.” Kylo ignores him, managing not to waggle an eyebrow. “Can I take off my shirt?”

Hux snorts, projecting something like frustration. “You can’t be fucking serious. You do...what you just did…and you want to have _ sex _about it.”

Kylo bites back an open smirk. “I like se--”

“Answer my question. What the fuck do you think you just did?”

This isn’t foreplay, at least not yet, but neither is Hux’s anger contagious, not while the Force is spinning Kylo’s head around. 

“I completed the mission as assigned, eliminated the key physical and political threat to our rule, and brought the population to heel.” _ Now kiss me, baby. _

“Through untenable means, in flagrant violation of Order standard operating procedure.”

“I don’t operate under standard Order procedure.” Kylo lets the Force flow through his tone, calming, and Hux’s datapad rises from the surface of the desk. “That’s the point of me.”

Hux smacks the datapad back down. “What you just did recklessly endangered Order property, as well as the lives of troopers and officers. The First Order does not operate on a basis of single combat.” The thing smouldering in Hux’s gaze, like some imploded blue star, could become arousal. He balls his fists in front of him on the desktop and looks down at them. “If you held a rank, I’d court martial you here and now.”

“You can court martial me all shift long.”

That brings a little color to Hux’s cheeks, flushes the tops of his ears pink amid the auburn above. 

“Shut up,” he says. “This is deadly serious. You--like it or not--are one of this organization’s greatest assets. You can’t simply risk--”

“You didn’t even see what I did,” Kylo interrupts. He’s still half-hard just from being near Hux, and he isn’t a patient man.

“The _ Upsilon _-class is equipped with one stealth camera on its hull,” Hux replies, in an incongruous, oily tone that he usually saves for Snoke. “And I received a detailed transmission from Ruthford.”

“So you have no reason not to understand that that was the only way to ensure victory.”

“I _ understand _ that you elected the most ridiculous, dangerous, and statistically averse option out of several valid ones.” Hux clears his throat, lets his fingers uncurl. 

Kylo wants to strip his gloves off, has to keep the Force away from them, tendrils reaching involuntarily, like a wild and flailing creature. It takes Kylo long enough to refocus that Hux keeps going without him.

“The _ Finalizer _was just a transmission away.”

“There wasn’t time to wait on you.” Kylo’s gaze strays to the momentum cradle. The metal spheres refract the overhead lighting. “And I thought we needed that population and province intact.”

“Most of a planet is better than none of it. Better than receiving your body back in a--” Hux cuts himself off abruptly, and seems to have hit a dead end, until he starts talking again. “Or not receiving it at all, given--” He breaks off again. 

This is unlike him, the stops and starts. Like he’s navigating a rickety starfighter around an invisible obstacle.

“Whatever might have happened, didn’t. I’m here.”

Hux doesn’t seem to care. He sits in silence for a moment, staring with Kylo at the cradle. The Force grabs the sphere at the near end, draws it back by its string, and releases it. It clacks against the ball next to it, and the sphere at the end swings out. Then back.

Hux looks up, expression still severe. “Your negotiations didn’t last long.”

“They would have ultimately been futile while they still had a secret weapon.” Kylo leans back. “I had to kill their god.”

“Their _ god_,” Hux scoffs. “An overfed _ sauriscia zillensis_. Did you know that genus have a weakness under their left foreleg?”

“Also in their intestinal lining.”

“If you’d commed for reinforcements, you wouldn’t have had to find out.” Hux pops his lips. The spheres clack, swinging to and fro like a pendulum. “You could have aimed for the soft spot to slow it down. You could have held out without this nonsense.”

It’s something in the way he says _ nonsense_, oozing condescension and impatience. Arrogance, too, and Kylo isn’t sure if he’d rather fuck the pride out of Hux or kneel down and let him step on his cock.

Either way, it’s time this progressed.

“No, we couldn’t have,” he snaps, “and no, that wouldn’t have yielded the right kind of victory. I had to kill the god and take its place before they would truly submit. That’s how it works. Godhood.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Hux rubs his temples, and something like a disbelieving, mirthless laugh escapes his lips. “He’s sitting here telling me he’s god.”

“No, I’m not saying that.” Hux knows this. He’s just being a pain in the ass. Still, Kylo insists, “Not like that. It’s not...apotheosis.”

“_Apotheosis_,” Hux parrots back. “Is that one from your Jedi primers?”

“Shut up.” The Force is kindling under Kylo’s skin, churning white hot and deadly. “You know it isn’t literal. For those people, on that world, where strength is everything, killing god makes you god, so I am. The First Order is. So you are.” 

Interest flickers across Hux’s presence at _ the First Order. _If he saw footage, he should have seen the kneeling--the world Kylo’s handed him. 

Externally, though, he shows no sign, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise. “I get to be god, too? Should I expect a few new eye sockets to open up in my forehead? To sprout a third limb?”

Kylo bites back a second _ shut up_, if only because Hux will call it childish. “The new, strong power supplants the old, weak one. You understand how that works.” 

Hux swallows. The spheres click. Loud. Obnoxious. “Yes, but--”

Kylo doesn’t let him finish. “I’d imagined a master tactician would have a better grasp on adapting to local cultures. Subduing them in a way they can understand.”

“And by that you mean a non-essential dramatic display?”

The spheres--

Kylo grabs the near one on the outswing, stills it against its neighbor. “Drama talks, Starkiller.”

“Not yet,” Hux corrects the nickname, but not before the blush returns to his face, ephemeral but still bright. Kylo wishes he could catch it, hold onto it until it warmed him up. 

“And Starkiller--” Hux continues, “--when it’s finished--will not be _ this. _This wasteful and... uncalculating.”

“_Uncalculating_?” Kylo’s voice spikes against his will. “I just explained to you my whole calculation _ process. _”

“And it fell woefully short. I won’t tolerate this sort of carelessness.”

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Kylo retorts. “It’s done.”

“I won’t, and my oath to the Order says I _ can’t, _and you--” He pauses for a moment, as if to collect his words, but it just creates the stuttering engine effect again. “You refuse to have a serious conversation about the low premium you placed on your own life, and--”

Kylo pulls out the stop card. “Snoke will be pleased.”

Armitage Hux, however, is made of inertia. “I’m sure he will, so _ someone _ has to impress upon you the gravity of the situation. Or stop this gloating, at least.”

“_Gloating,_” Kylo echoes him again. “You mean the part where I’m proud of something I accomplished.” 

“I _ mean _ the part where you’re clearly so pleased with your own abilities that you fail to consider other options or accept any kind of… of critique or alternative...” Hux is scrambling for purchase. Has been. Like he doesn’t know how to handle this, has to find fault. “You can’t just come in here so damn _ self-satisfied _\--”

Kylo cuts him off, cuts to what might be the core of it. “Is that not allowed? Can I not be happy about something for reasons entirely unrelated to _ you _?”

Hux flinches back at that, or at least represses the flinch a heartbeat too slowly. His lips part, and his gaze flickers. “This is not about me, R--” 

Hux is lying, and he knows it.

Kylo interrupts: “I feel I’ve done something right, you immediately tear me to pieces over it. Keeps me nice and weak, doesn’t it.”

To Hux’s credit, he recovers quickly. Actually scoffs, before standing to his feet, dismissive. “If I fancied _ weak_, why would I ever want _ you _on top of me?”

The trouble is, Kylo has no idea why Hux ever wants any of it: Kylo on top of him, beneath him, around him, in his mouth, touching his cock, licking him incoherent, leaving him screaming.

“You tell me,” he tries, following Hux up.

He rounds the desk’s narrow corner in two strides, blocking Hux’s path back toward the darkened holotank. Hux’s jaw tightens--one of his many tells of annoyance--but relaxes slightly as his gaze trails down Kylo’s body. Lands on the bulge of his semi and _ lingers. _

Something like a smile twists the corners of his mouth. He takes a step closer to Kylo, but pauses chest-to-chest with him. He has no intention of going past or through, and the toe of his boot slots between Kylo’s.

The proximity alone goes straight to Kylo’s cock--the dilation of Hux’s pupils, the hitch of his breath, the faint sheen on his lips as he wets them. 

As for the accompanying wave of desire, directed--always impossibly--toward himself, Kylo would have felt that across the room, but here in the epicenter, it’s overwhelming - the sudden image of himself, all his mismatched parts, as something worth having.

“To be clear,” Hux says, less than steady, “no one in this military is allowed to pull a violation like this one. But especially not you.”

“Like I said. I’m not in this military.”

Hux hums in response, and then--as if in slow motion--he drags a hand down Kylo’s left pec. The contact sends a thrill through Kylo’s bloodstream. “Like _ I _said. You remain an asset to it.” 

His fingers drift to the waistband of Kylo’s training slacks, toy with it briefly, then snap it once against his hip, before withdrawing. Awaiting the next move.

“If I’m such a strong asset--” Kylo runs a hand down Hux’s side in turn, but comes to rest at his waist. His fingers encircle it easily, and he slips his other hand under Hux’s tunic to palm his ass. “--why do you criticize everything I do?”

Hux’s breath hitches, hot against Kylo’s lips, and both his hands fly up to grip Kylo’s shirt. There’s the horrible moment where he could be pushing Kylo away, but it resolves quickly into pulling him closer, eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, mouth-to-mouth, foreheads brushing. “Because you’re thoughtless and impulsive and attention-seeking. And--.”

“Yeah?” Kylo smiles, and closes the few centimeters between their lips before Hux can respond. 

He all but crushes his mouth onto Hux’s, but Hux gives way easily. His grasp on the t-shirt tightens, fingers twisting into the fabric, pulling Kylo closer still. Kylo slides the hand that’s been on Hux’s waist around to splay across his back, kneads his ass with the other.

Hux’s arousal is a chord in the Force, and the warmth of it presses against Kylo’s own erection, trapped between them and throbbing now, between the softness of Hux’s mouth, his iron grip, and the way he’s slotted against Kylo’s body. 

This is all he’s wanted, this is all he’s _ been wanting _\--this release--even if Hux doesn’t appreciate it, even if Hux thinks he’s reckless and foolish and a liability, even if--

It doesn’t matter. The Force doesn’t lie. He still wants Kylo--wants _ this_, anyway, which has to be enough.

Walking Hux a single step backward toward the desk, Kylo teases the seam of Hux’s lips with his tongue, probing. He sinks his teeth into Kylo’s lower lip in response, startling a choked sound from the back of Kylo’s throat as they pull apart for breath.

Hux is panting against Kylo’s mouth, color high on his cheeks. He uncurls his hands from Kylo’s shirt and smooths out the wrinkles, running a thumb over each of Kylo’s nipples as he does so. The pressure sends another wave of electricity through Kylo’s veins; he squeezes Hux’s ass in something like retaliation.

Hux breath hitches at that, and a glance down shows he’s almost as hard as Kylo. 

Without letting go, Kylo walks him two more steps backward, until the backs of his thighs hit the synthwood. Kylo slots his hips over Hux’s, and Hux bucks into him as if on instinct.

Kylo grinds into it. “I thought you said this wasn’t about you.”

“My--” Hux sighs through the next word as Kylo nuzzles against the coarser hair of his sideburn. “--_ proclivities _have no impact on how I rate your usefulness to this organization.”

“Good thing how you rate me impacts absolutely nothing.”

Hux tweaks Kylo’s nipple through his shirt again as Kylo draws back, looking up at Kylo through his lashes. “Is that how you remind me I’m stuck with you?”

Kylo rolls his hips again. “I do have _ one _better idea.”

“Do share.” Hux lowers his hands to plant them on the desktop, push himself up onto it. His legs are long enough that his toes brush the floor when pointed downward, but he swings his feet anyway, for a moment at least, like a kid.

Kylo surges forward, covering each of Hux’s gloved hands with his own bare ones, pinning them to the surface of the desk. Hux _ lets him. _“You want it up here, baby?”

The pet name slipped out, but Hux seems for once too far gone to correct him. In reply, he frees his right hand to cup the back of Kylo’s neck, then kisses him again, spreading his legs to let Kylo press closer.

Hux usually keeps his thoughts so tidy--locked deep and compartmentalized--that he’s difficult to read, but as his tongue parts Kylo’s lips, he’s projecting all but openly. 

This week, with Kylo’s three missions in the sector he just got back from. Hux’s bed--too large, too cold; his soapy right hand on his cock; fitful sleep, with no datapad alerts muted, just in case. A noxious tangle of anxiety, stacking up in the pit of his stomach.

Kylo pulls back almost abruptly, allows himself a shit-eating smile. “You missed me.”

“I missed _ this. _” Hux drops his hand from Kylo’s nape to palm the hard line of his cock, which is--a lot.

He barely manages not to rut up into it, undo himself. It’s happened before--he’s come on the outline of Hux’s hand alone, without so much as skin contact. Hux loved that. (So did Kylo.)

At least Hux lifts his hand long enough for Kylo to catch his breath, lean in to press his lips along Hux’s jaw. “I’ll fuck you so good you’ll still feel it when I’m gone.” Hux hums amused interest. “I’ll be a hundred lightyears away, and that tight little hole will still be open for me, all ready-- _ fuck. _”

Hux’s teeth tease the shell of Kylos’ ear as he pulls up, then his tongue leaves a hot stripe along it, the surge of pleasure like a stim. The Force frazzles his thoughts, lighting up the flow of it between his body and Hux’s.

Hux releases his ear, but takes his chin in hand, forcing eye contact. His voice is a taut whisper, barely contained. “First things first.” His gaze darts down to his boots, polished toes brushing the gray rug.

They’ll have to come off, as will, well, a lot of things.

“You don’t keep a bootjack in here,” Kylo says. It’s supposed to sound more like a complaint.

Hux raises his eyebrows. “Regardless, I’m already up here…”

It’s not easy to kneel with his cock throbbing like this, with Hux looking down at him with an expression that’s downright _ imperious_, with the Force still bleeding out of him in every direction. 

He shifts his weight once he’s down, shuts his eyes and takes a calming breath that shrinks the room back down to scale. Clears his mind long enough to mechanically wrap his hand below Hux’s knee, holding it in place for him to tug the laces loose.

He slides his other hand further down, gripping Hux’s calf--slim even through the layers of jodhpur and leather--to start sliding the boot off. It’s just to clear the way for everything above it to come off easily, but it’s impossible not to take advantage of the chance to simply _ touch him _. Pay attention to a part of him Kylo rarely gets to during sex.

Hux doesn’t mind it, either. A shockwave of pleasure ripples across his shape in the Force as Kylo massages the tight muscle there, threatening to overspill his edges. 

“You like that?” Kylo murmurs, mostly to ground himself.

“Perhaps.”

Kylo bites his lip--_ fucking focus _\--but before he can get the boot much further down, something presses into his left thigh. Hux’s other boot. He’s running it up and down the length of it, from Kylo’s kneecap to his throbbing cock, slow against the friction of the tight training wear. His toe presses lightly against his erection, lingers longer than it ought to, impossibly heavy, impossibly good, he’s so--

Kylo digs his fingers into the leather, going white-knuckled. Trying not to _ see _white. 

He’s going to see this through, as he intended. Give Hux what he said he would. Control this.

He’s not going to come from Hux’s boot, like he did when he was twenty-three. He’s not.

Hux rubs a gentle circle on the head of his cock, as if he’s the one with telepathic abilities, but drags his foot back just as it’s becoming too much. He teases the same line down Kylo’s thigh, and Kylo tries to go back to the other boot.

“So,” Hux says, casually, just as Kylo’s managed to release his death-grip on the boot’s back seam, “this was one of Vader’s worlds, correct?”

“No,” Kylo grits out, as Hux’s foot trails up again. “Sort of. Vader tried. He didn’t finish the work.” 

Kylo yanks the boot off all the way, sets it aside, and risks a glance up as he reaches inside the leg of Hux’s jodhpurs to reach the top of his sock. He must not have done much walking yet this shift--he doesn’t seem to have sweat into either boot or sock.

Kylo hooks a finger into the band of the sock, hidden under the gray fabric, brushing hair that Kylo knows is fine and light.

“He didn’t--” Hux startles as Kylo snaps the band before peeling it downward, but recovers quickly. Even manages a sneer. “--achieve divinity, then?”

“No,” Kylo breathes as Hux presses his cock again. He slides the sock all the way off in one clean motion, exposing Hux’s pale foot. A speck of black lint clings to the base of his big toe. Kylo brushes it off. “Obviously not, if there was still a god left to kill.”

Hux snorts, and here it comes--whatever degrading thing he’s going to say: Vader’s heir clinging to his feet, more of the wilfully ignorant godhood teasing. 

Sometimes, Kylo wouldn’t mind.

But apparently, Hux can tell today isn’t one of those days. He lifts his other foot as Kylo cups his heel, slips his hand slowly around it and off.

“So you did it, then,” Hux says.

Kylo risks a glance up as he turns to Hux’s right foot, which both is and isn’t a mistake, because Hux is gorgeous. His eyes are shut, head tipped, throat bared, lips _ just _parted--and curled vaguely upward.

Kylo sucks in a breath, sees spots as he looks backs down, blinking rapidly. “Did-- did what?” he stammers, gripping Hux’s right calf as he did the left.

“This--_ mmm _\--” Hux breaks off as Kylo rubs the muscle. “--your, ah, your Vader thing. You’ve...surpassed him now, yes?”

“I--” Kylo starts, as he tangles his right hand into the laces.

Hux keeps talking, impossibly relaxed. “I’m not surprised.”

“What?” Kylo murmurs. The strings fall straight.

“‘_ What?’” _ Hux echoes, with a scoff that can only be described as soft. “What do you mean _ what_? Even if I disagree with your...approach, you did well.”

Of course, Hux only praises him when he’s on his knees.

(He’ll take it, though. By the Force itself, _ he’ll take it. _)

As he pulls off the boot, he leans forward, pressing his lips to Hux’s knee through the fabric. Hux’s hand comes down to tangle into his hair, tugging lightly as he combs through it.

“You did so well,” he repeats, even quieter.

Kylo squeezes his eyes shut against tears, against looking up, against a flurry of sensation that threatens to wring his orgasm from him far too early. He pictures nothing behind his eyelids. Darkness.

He knows what he did was extraordinary. He knows. Hearing it from _ Hux, _ who did nothing but mock and criticize it before he got Kylo where he wanted him, shouldn’t make any difference. Neither should the gentle rhythm of his fingers in Kylo’s hair. 

Kylo inhales. Withdraws. Has to take control. 

Has to, or what is the point of this, what’s the point of coming in here exhilarated, ready to slam Hux against the nearest solid surface and fuck him senseless, if he’s going to fall apart like this, if he’s going to be so goddamn _ weak-- _

He tugs off Hux’s remaining sock with the Force and stands in a single fluid motion. He yanks off his shirt and tosses it aside, even as Hux’s own hands stray under his tunic to his waistband, pointedly looking away from Kylo’s chest.

“Lube in the top right drawer,” he says, damn near _ casual. _ No one but Kylo would detect the tension under his tone, the excitement and the _ need. _

Kylo hardly hears the words themselves. Watches, mesmerized, as Hux wriggles out of his briefs and jodhpurs just by shifting his weight. Kylo hardly has to nudge the Force to slide the shed garments off of his ankles.

Hux’s legs are incredible, objectively speaking, but the gray tunic he’s making no move to take off throws them into sharp relief. Star-pale, dotted with light moles and the faint blue silhouettes of veins. Deceptively delicate, like the rest of him.

He crosses them at the ankles. Swings them as best he can.

“Well?”

Kylo blinks. “Yeah.” He opens the drawer, extracts the lube from behind several spare power packs for Hux’s sidearm. “Yeah.” 

The Force slams the drawer shut. Kylo sets down the lube, slips out of the borrowed pants and kicks them aside, freeing his erection. 

The relief on his cock is only momentary, though. Hux’s fingers wrap around it, unusually warm, almost as soon as it’s curled upward. 

“Fuck.” Kylo’s breath catches in the back of his throat, and he forces himself to maintain eye contact. 

Hux’s pupils are swollen, gaze glittering. He raises both eyebrows. He’s holding the lube in his left hand. “Let me.”

“I thought you wanted me to fuck you.” It’s out before Kylo can stop it. He’s probably blushing at that, but it’s nothing compared to the heat pooling in his cock, pulsing in Hux’s hand.

Hux thumbs the underside of Kylo’s cock. “I would’ve thought your supernatural stamina could handle it.”

It’s only Kylo’s startled laugh that keeps him from losing it at that alone. He schools his face quickly enough, feeling the flush at that. “Stop talking and do it.”

Hux bites his lip against a smirk and removes his hand to uncaps the lube. He squeezes a generous amount across his free hand. His slicked skin is back on Kylo’s within seconds, his gaze entirely for Kylo’s cock as he moves up and down with more friction than is strictly necessary.

Kylo buries his teeth in his lower lip, just for _ any other _sensation, some other focus point besides the squelch of the lube, the softness of Hux’s skin, the rhythm he’s somehow managed to strike. His expression is dispassionate, intense, but his pace belies it.

“Enough,” Kylo snaps, when his cock twitches, and his pulse is hammering in his ears.

Hux slows, but doesn’t stop. “I’m the one who’s taking this thing.” He thumbs the precome beading at Kylo’s slit. “I should get to decide what’s enough.”

“It’s _ enough_,” Kylo repeats. “Just-- Let me--” _ Please. _(He stops just short of it.)

“Since you ask so eloquently.” Hux scoffs again--obnoxiously composed--and wipes his wet hand across Kylo’s chest. 

That’s it.

Enough of_ all of it. _

He places both hands on Hux’s chest, pushes him down onto the surface of the desk. Hux mounts no resistance.

“About time,” he says, once his back is flat against the synthwood, Kylo’s hands still holding him down.

He’s unbearably beautiful spread out like this, open and _ needing_, for all he’d claim otherwise. Kylo’s cock throbs, and there’s no guarantee of how long he’ll last, but it’s not like he can help himself. He’s already leaning across Hux’s body, his bare chest centimeters above Hux’s tunic, and it doesn’t take much more of a stretch to catch his lips again.

Hux arches up into it, and Kylo’s arms wind up underneath him, bracing his shoulders. It’s sloppier than the last kiss--more teeth, clacking, biting--Hux’s tongue pressing against Kylo’s as he traces the inside of Hux’s mouth. The Force thrums in rhythm with Kylo’s lips, like an echo, like _ validation, _ like this is the only truly _ right _thing in the galaxy.

Hux’s lips are shining with spit when he pulls back for breath, and he drags the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes are so bright.

Somehow, Kylo still recovers first. “Do you want my fingers first?”

They do this often enough that he doesn’t strictly need them, but sometimes he wants them. (Kylo always wants his. Wants it to last.)

But today, apparently, Hux is impatient. His hard cock is trapped between their hips, tenting the hem of his tunic. He lies back again--lets Kylo ease him down--and wraps one leg around Kylo’s waist, running his heel up Kylo’s spine. 

“Just lube,” he says, and lowers his foot at a wider angle than before.

More of his tunic hikes up at that, but Kylo flips it up entirely before grabbing the lube. His hands are less than steady, so it’s probably a good thing Hux doesn’t want any serious fingering. He’s so hard it hurts, and there’s no way he’ll last, _ there’s no way he can-- _

The lube is cool on his fingertips. He rubs them together, focusing on the viscosity, the way the overhead light cuts through the translucent gel. 

He inhales as Hux rolls a bit further back, lifting his hips as much as he can to give Kylo better access to the delicate furl of his hole.

Kylo straightens his tunic again with his clean hand, avoiding the pink curve of his cock against it. “Last chance to take this off.”

“I’ll come in my--_ ah _\--” Hux breaks off into a high, strangled sound as Kylo circles his rim with his slick index finger, presses just the tip inside. “--fuck you, my hand.”

“Sure about that?”

“Only if you stop this and just lube me as I asked.”

There’s only so much lubing Kylo can do, but he teases Hux’s hole with another fingertip, not quite breaching the tight ring of muscle. “That’s a terrible incentive to do as you asked.”

Hux’s scoff comes out as a gasp, which is pretty fuckng satisfying. He catches his breath for a moment. “Just fuck me before you come on yourself.”

“Kind of you to volunteer to hold my come.”

Hux rolls his eyes. “An unfortunate corollary of holding--” He nods vaguely toward Kylo’s cock. “--that.”

“You’re welcome.” Kylo aligns his cock with Hux’s entrance, grips his narrow hips with both hands, and presses in without warning.

He barely hears Hux’s strangled cry. The Force is roaring in his ears, the same thrum, but with a rapidfire crescendo. He feels detached from his senses, the only thing tethering him to his body Hux’s clutching heat, as he buries himself deeper inside him.

He can’t get all the way in at this angle, not before his thighs smack the edge of the desk, tight balls brushing its surface. 

_ Hux is going to sit here_, comes a fleeting thought, a flickering set of images, more certain than a vision. He’s going to set his datapad here where his bare ass is, read his reports and hold his diplomatic holocalls for the rest of his shift, with the whole room reeking of sex, of Kylo--

“Well?” Hux’s heel nudges Kylo’s back, that leg back around Kylo’s waist while the other is spread wide

From this angle, Kylo can’t make out his expression, his taut voice oddly disembodied, in contrast to the rest of him.

He’s tight around Kylo, though, so perfectly _ tight_, and Kylo starts moving, shallow thrusts. 

The Force is electric under his skin, a heat different from the prickle of arousal, stronger, louder. Kylo barely has to think to find Hux’s prostate, lets the Force guide him to the angle that will amplify the vibrations between them, balance the Dark of desire with the Light of pleasure.

Hux’s gasped _ fuck, Ren, yes _comes as if from underwater. Kylo keeps moving, doesn’t care if he’s drowning.

Sound resolves into something sharper after the first few thrusts: the squelch of the lube, Hux’s cut-off cries, Kylo’s own labored breathing. 

Briefly, the Force brings every detail in front of him into focus: Hux’s slim fingers around his thick cock, the bead of precome at the tip, his wrinkled tunic in the background. Kylo watches as one of his hands slides down Hux’s leg to wrap around his slender ankle. He feels every bone as Hux relaxes into his grasp.

With the next thrust, though, it’s watercolor again--a swirl of incoherent sensations. He rocks into Hux, dimly aware of how his thighs smack the side of the desk. 

It doesn’t matter, none of it does.

This is all he’s wanted--this release, this warmth, someone to share the thrum of the Force with when it’s breaking through his skin, even if Hux can’t feel it, has no idea what this means. He’s beautiful, though, and he needs it, too, needs something, needs Kylo, needs--

“What the _ fuck, _Ren.”

Kylo’s pulled back, but slams back in on instinct, startling a gasp from Hux. “_ What_,” he murmurs.

“Would your--” Hux inhales sharply. His chin, Kylo realizes, is angled to his left rather than straight up. “--divine abilities mind stopping...that?”

“I hate you.” Kylo shifts inside him. The Force pounds against his ribs, against his fingerprints, in his groin. “Stopping…”

Shit.

His gaze follows Hux’s left, then right. Hux’s datapad is hovering again, several centimeters off the surface of the desk. His mug does too, which is probably the only thing that saved it from toppling off the edge.

The momentum cradle’s spheres clack of their own accord, punctuating the silence of their breathing. In time. Matching. The Force hums with it, loud and bright.

Kylo tightens his grasp on Hux’s skin, shifts back against his prostate almost unconsciously. Kylo barely has time to settle the datapad on the floor before the wave of pleasure crests over him, drags him under.

Distantly, the mug falls, teabags smacking the synthstone as the ceramic shatters. In Kylo’s periphery, the cradle’s spheres simply still in place, the near one suspended in mid-air.

“Fuck, Ren, that was my--_ fuck _.”

Kylo hits his prostate again. “Sorry.’” He sucks in a shaky breath. He’s close now, can feel his heartbeat in his cock, inside of Hux. 

“No, it’s, _ ah--” _ Hux’s hand moves furiously on his cock, ribcage heaves through his tunic. His eyes are shut, lips, swollen, parted. “ _ Ren _.” 

Kylo’s already pulled back again. “Hey,” he breathes. Presses back in. “Hux, I’m--” He’s losing it. The Force is _ loud. _“I--”

The suspended sphere falls. Clacks. 

Kylo’s climax pulses through him, blurring the edges of his vision into static, his hearing momentarily into nothing but that vibrating chord--Hux’s sharp-edged shape in the Force.

_ “Fuck _.” 

Hux’s own orgasm spills over his hand, and Kylo can only fuck him through it. He couldn’t stop if he tried, his own cock pulsing with each wave of Hux’s pleasure. It lasts longer than it should, or maybe it just feels that way, with Hux’s emotions cycling through him, radiating out of him. 

The memories again--_ Hux’s hand in the shower; that stalagmite of anxiety, growing cold in the pit of his stomach-- _those Kylo holds onto. He can handle them. Hux has had them once, doesn’t need them again, and definitely not amplified by the Force.

Kylo gives him only the good ones--the high of his own fullness, laughter bubbling at the back of his throat, an incongruous image of Kylo’s own quirked lips--lets the Force multiply them in proportion, until they’re bled dry, and the colors in front of him are resolving back into shapes, the nebulous hum of the Force into real sounds.

The spheres clack again, and Hux is breathing deeply, steady inhales. His hand is limp around his softening cock, soiled and wet. A single splash of come stains the underside of his tunic.

Hux drops his legs, and Kylo pulls out. His own cock is going flaccid, the crown wet with his own come. Some of it leaks out of Hux and onto the desk as he withdraws. He has nothing to clean it up with, and has no idea how Hux plans to keep working after this, but Hux appears unperturbed.

His chest rises and falls steadily, breathing less audible now. One of his feet brushes the rug, swinging idly.

Kylo’s own legs feel light and unsteady. He wraps a hand around the edge of the desk, then turns to lean against it, facing the viewport like Hux has been.

He inhales, exhales. The sensation of the Force draining from him is all but physical. There’s exhaustion left, bone-deep, but something else, too, like the damp quiet after a storm.

After a moment of this--just breathing--a tap against Kylo’s shin startles him. Hux’s foot. He nudges him again. “Welcome back.”

It’s the orgasm that’s softened his tone, but Kylo still has no clue what to do with it.

“Thank you,” he says.

He spares Hux a glance in time to watch Hux’s right hand wrap around his own elbow, warm, bony, sticky with come. Hux pulls himself fully upright, clearly avoiding soiling the surface of the desk, as if a handprint will make a difference when he’s full of it.

Hux lets go as soon as he’s sitting up, slouched a bit, but thighs pulled tight together. The side of his arm brushes Kylo’s. He’s that close.

Kylo looks back and forth between Hux’s face and the hand-shaped sheen on the back of his arm. It’s just out of range to lick off.

“Bottom left drawer,” Hux says. “If you want to clean up.”

They both know Kylo’s arm is the least of their problems. 

Hux doesn’t know Kylo’s half-tempted to just leave it, let it dry, cling to his skin like a brand. But he can’t--it would be a weapon.

“Or I could just leave you like this.” Kylo moves his hand to stroke up and down Hux’s bare thigh, from his knee to the hem of his tunic, now covering his cock again. “All fucked out and filthy. Ready for me.”

Hux huffs a short laugh that collapses into a sigh. “Not necessary.”

Hux’s skin is soft under Kylo’s fingers. So much warmer than it looks. “Not necessary?”

“Given that I’m always--” Hux stops abruptly, flushing red in Kylo’s periphery as the post-coital slur dissolves. “Damn you.”

“Always what?” Kylo teases, stilling his hand to squeeze. His fingers nearly span the width of Hux’s thigh.

He already knows the answer, just as he knows Hux won’t say it. Can’t. Maybe doesn’t know how.

It comes as a shock, then, when Hux leans against him, pressing his head against Kylo’s shoulder. Kylo barely manages not to flinch, but uses the surge of energy to lift his hand, wrap his arm around Hux’s shoulders instead. 

The tip of Hux’s nose presses into his bicep. “Damn you,” he repeats.

On instinct, Kylo presses his lips into Hux’s hair. “Yeah?”

“That report,” Hux murmurs, but there’s a smile in his voice. “That footage. You had me absolutely terrified, I-- I really thought you… I--”

Kylo could let him keep stumbling, but he hushes him instead. “Terrifying. You should add that one to the draft report.”

“Perhaps,” Hux says as he nuzzles closer, relaxed. His laugh is warm against Kylo’s skin.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and find me on Twitter [here](https://twitter.com/imperialhuxness)!


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